Vespers
by Ammanalien
Summary: He'd take it all for her if he could... for her to be whole and healthy and alive, he'd give everything he had. McKeller


Author's Note : I'm making an assumption here... that Rodney does not remember his declaration of love (from 'The Shrine').

With great thanks to Schweinsty for the Beta!

Vespers

oOo

Curly; straight; which one? The question threatened to expand, clog up his brilliant mind... become the question to end all questions.

He shifted in his chair, the plastic creaking. Someone passed behind him, almost noiselessly, somewhere in the room. It was late and the silence was only broken by the steady beat of the medical machinery.

He looked down at her again; a pale face obscured by an oxygen mask. Her brown hair was spread across a stark white pillow. _Mostly, it's straight now,_ he thought. It was still mussed though, dull and lifeless. They had cleaned her up as best they could, given the circumstances. It struck him that contemplating the relative waviness of her hair was maybe an inappropriate train of thought at that moment.

He remembered that his sister Jeannie's hair curled all the time. In his mind there were images of his sister trying vainly to drag a comb through the unruly mess. She'd said something about atmosphere or temperature or humidity... a cold hand clutched his heart; must have been the dampness. The place they'd found Jennifer had slimy, green walls streaming with brackish water. It was a filthy hole of despair, and whatever organism had settled deep in her lungs, it was an inhabitant of that dark prison cell.

But he would not allow his mind to drift back to that place: No, not yet... maybe later in the lonely silence of his quarters...maybe 'after' he would revisit the horrific place of her imprisonment. There would be time enough after.

He sniffed loudly, drew a forearm across tired eyes. He still wore his vest, had not thought to take it off. Suddenly, he realised how dirty he was... dusty and covered in the grime of years. It was a wonder they'd let him alone to sit here. He probably had John to thank for that.

Jennifer lay on her back, her left hand upon the coverlet. The IV port was taped there. This hand rose and fell with every slow breath; the other was thrown back beside her ear, palm up and fingers relaxed.

He blinked down at this hand; it was small and capable, not a movie star's hand nor either that of an artist or craftsman. Its delicate practicality surprised him. The nail's were short... looked almost nibbled down. The pads of skin on thumb and forefinger were finely scored with small abrasions and minute callouses.

It fascinated him...spoke to him in a way that was inexplicable. Made him think of times they spent together and times they spent apart. Kind words, cross words; _Rodney, don't let go_. The way she spoke to him, to others. The way she smiled at him, scowled and raged at him. How she wore her hair. The way her life had so unexpectedly touched his. She was so... and he paused before trying to give this feeling a name. She was so... _human._

And that was just ridiculous, wasn't it? She was just as human as anyone else on Atlantis, but he had never seen it so vividly, felt it so keenly in anyone else. The attraction to this humanity was electric; he wanted it, wanted her. _There_ was his happiness... right there, embodied in a quiet American doctor. The others... did they see it, what he saw? Maybe they did, but they didn't _love_ her for it...

Yes, there was _humanity_ in that hand; humanity, strength, courage. He leaned forward and covered it with his own, palm to palm. It felt warm to him, but very, very still. He allowed his fingers to flex and extend, and as he pressed, her hand receded into the pillow beneath it.

His fingers curled and found the spaces between hers. With their hands interlocked like this, he felt at last, that his hold on her was secure... no one could take her from this world tonight.

He could feel the soft caress of air waft across the back of his hand, as it seeped from the sides of the mask. None of her hand was now visible; his great clumsy one obscured what was beneath.

His eyes closed.

Not when Elizabeth's body teemed with nanites, did he feel like this; not even when he watched as John was fed upon by a monster.

He'd dealt with pain himself... been shot at, blown up, skewered by an arrow. His own pain had been bad enough to deal with, but this? This was unbearable crawl-out-of-your-skin-screaming pain, someone else's pain, someone who had become necessary in his life. It tore at his very soul and he didn't see how you could recover - how _he_ could recover - from that.

Most of all he wanted to take it away... wanted it desperately, more than anything he'd ever wanted. More than a Nobel prize; more than fame, fortune and that elusive recognition. He'd take it all for her if he could... the pain, the sickness, the cold threat of death. For her to be whole and healthy and alive, he'd give everything he had.

But there was nothing more to be done. Everyone said so... _matter of time... gravely ill... prepare yourself._

Prepare.

For what? For yet another staff change? For the loss of another colleague? Another friend? For aching loneliness, and his inevitable, long-overdue descent into madness?

Slowly, he pulled back his hand. Drawing a breath, he held it in and found his eyes had opened to a pale blurriness; his head dropped forward into both shaking hands.

Had they really had anything? A few looks now and again; a beer... a chat at breakfast... an argument or two about ancient tech.

He'd been too late. How long had he been _meaning_ to say something?

They had barely even touched. They'd had nothing... and would never share anything now.

-o-o-

He felt a light touch on his shoulder; nothing was said. He stood slowly, only a little supported by the figure at his side. He shrugged off the vest... found it gone and a warm mug of something pressed carefully into his hands.

He sipped at it slowly.

"Sleep... here. Come on," Sheppard said quietly, and over the rim of the mug, Rodney saw an infirmary bed, roughly made up with blankets, pulled right up to hers.

"John..." he began, stopping because he had so much to say, and no clear place to start.

"I'll wake you if.. " Sheppard said, hesitating. Then he simply said, "I'll wake you," his face shadowed by sadness.

John would be there when he awoke; but awoke to what? A world without _her_?

He fumbled the empty mug onto the cabinet top by Jennifer's side.

And because he didn't know how _not_ to ... he bent quickly and kissed her... once, on the cheek, where the cool oxygen blew, and he pretended her skin wasn't cold and unyielding as marble.

Feeling numb, he hopped up onto his bed and lay down, pulling at the covers; if he craned his neck he could still see her face.

John was there... on the other side. He was watching both of them.

The lights dimmed; _we're almost alone here, lying in the dark together, _Rodney thought.

_Alone;_ like they never had been, like they never would be... and that just hurt more than anything.

oOo


End file.
